“Am I the only journalist in town you haven’t called and talked shit to?”

“Nah. After you, I’m throwing a brick through April Ryan’s window.”

“Why?”

“She knows fuckin’ why. Where are you? You should come on down to the Banana Lounge.

“I’ve never heard of it. Is that a bar?”

“It’s more of a club. Y’see, I know this dealer named Banana, and–”

“I’m not coming down.”

“Free meth. On me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Maggie, I’m free. I’m back to my old self. The Bannon Cannon is locked and loaded, baby. All these globalist cucks? These Democrats and bankers and artists and New Yorkers and pork-haters–”

“Just say ‘Jews,’ Steve.”

“–they’re getting fucked in their assholes. And when their assholes can’t take it anymore, when they’ve stretched and weakened and fallen out of their bodies, I’m gonna carve ’em new assholes. And then I’m gonna fuck those assholes. Eventually, I’ll run out of flesh upon which to bore assholes to fuck. But not for a long time.”

“Wow.”

“They’re going down. I’m yelling ‘timber.'”

“Did you just quote Pitbull?”

“Mr. Worldwide is a personal friend. Lot of interesting ideas on trade.”

“Sure.”

“You know who I am? I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“You leave Obi-Wan out of this, damn you.”

“They struck me down, and now I will become more powerful than they can ever imagine.”

“Lemme get this straight. You think going from the White House to the 63rd most popular website in the country is a promotion? Are you drunk?”